


follow me in merry measure

by missgiven



Series: trim the hearth & set the table [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1940s, Always Ready To Fight For Butch Aziraphale, Butch/Femme, F/F, Femme Crowley, Flirting, Ineffable Wives (Good Omens), Jealous Crowley (Good Omens), Swing Dancing, butch Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:33:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21906796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missgiven/pseuds/missgiven
Summary: Crowley is expecting to put in a night's work at the club. She's surprised to find Aziraphale already there, dancing away and having the time of her life. Crowley isn't immediately jealous, because that would be uncharitable (good) and unflattering (quite a bit bad).AU where Crowley and Aziraphale tend to present as women."The music ended, and Aziraphale and her partner collapsed into one another in a fit of giggles. Their faces were very close. The woman kissed Aziraphale’s cheek and Aziraphale patted her hand companionably.Me,Crowley thought miserably. Dance withme."
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: trim the hearth & set the table [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564021
Comments: 14
Kudos: 154





	follow me in merry measure

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Aziraphale as a man presents very gay, intentionally so. So in a world where Aziraphale tends to present as a woman, I maintain that the _second_ butch culture was a marginally acceptable thing in England (the very beginning of the twentieth century in some circles), Aziraphale adopted that presentation. Unfortunately I am unable to take criticism at this time.

** London, 1946 **

When Crowley descended the stairs to the club, she had not been expecting to find the angel. She had expected to start a tab at the bar, settle in to one of the little tables, maybe flirt with a few other femmes just to cause a minor stir. Generally she was looking forward to “putting in a night’s work,” ie, locating herself in the general area of individuals facing general temptation and then writing up some general observations to take credit for on her next report. 

She’d managed to get herself a drink, but hadn’t even made it to a table before she caught sight of that bloody angel. 

Aziraphale was _dancing_ , of all things. _Dancing._ With some little _tart_ on her arm, at that. Crowley sniffed. Didn’t know angels could dance. Didn’t know angels cavorted with women of that caliber.

She tucked herself into the nearest corner, which was miraculously empty. 

Aziraphale looked. Rather remarkably good, honestly. It was warm in the cramped little room, but she was still all buttoned up in her suit and bowtie. 

Aziraphale had really been coming into her own, ever since the turn of the century. The twenties happened, and _wham_ , off came half of Crowley’s hair — of course that was to be expected, one has to keep up with the fashions, &c. But around the same time, _wham_ , off came half of Aziraphale’s hair as well. And keeping up with the times was not like Aziraphale at all.

(“Why lop it off if you’re going to keep wearing that stuffy old shirtwaist?” Crowley had asked. “At least get a new dress.”

“I don’t want a new dress,” Aziraphale had maintained stubbornly.)

It had all become rather more clear the first time Crowley saw Aziraphale in the same old stuffy shirtwaist tucked into a pair of men’s trousers, the new short haircut slicked back like a man’s. Crowley had taken one look at her friend and immediately vacated the premises. Seeing Aziraphale like that had made her _feel_ things.

Confusing things. Things that she was feeling again now, admiring Aziraphale in that stiff collar and bowtie. Things that were probably connected to the wild thought she had to personally damn the girl in Aziraphale’s arms. 

Envy was all right, for a demon, but Crowley caught herself. Personal damnation, just for dancing with Aziraphale, was a little nasty.

Who knew that Aziraphale knew her way around a dance floor, anyway? Angels categorically did not dance. _Could_ not dance. Crowley knew this. Demons came from angel-stock, and she could hardly dance.

She could, of course. She worked hard to be able to do so. Dancing was cool, and Crowley was cool, and so Crowley had to figure out a way to make it happen.

She just never thought that Aziraphale would have done the same thing.

And Aziraphale moved _well_ on the dance floor, too. She wasn’t very showy, and Crowley could tell that she kept using the same few turns and moves in a rotation. But. She seemed to be having just a marvelous time, and so her partner did as well. Aziraphale was careful of the room around them, never sending the girl out to bump into anyone else. She kept up a little conversation, but not too much. When the music called for it, she added stupid little moves and syncopations that fit, that her partner eagerly followed and embellished. She looked perfect.

The song finished, and Crowley took a sip of her drink. Her mouth was parched.

Aziraphale did not spy Crowley lurking in the corner. This was reasonable, as Crowley was a world-class lurker. Instead, Aziraphale courteously saw her partner away (Crowley watched Aziraphale’s hand on the girl’s back and _seethed_ ) and, as the record changed over, sought another sweet little femme to dance with.

This woman was obviously a far better dancer than Aziraphale, but the angel reveled in the woman’s skill. Of course she did. She loved humans and their _art._ The woman followed Aziraphale’s simple lead perfectly, but whenever the music called for some impressive styling, Aziraphale paused in some stupid pose and obviously admired her partner’s improvised footwork before pulling her in again to continue the dance.

It was really quite impressive, how the pair moved together. Crowley felt sick.

Not that she had any reason to, she realized. Of course, not that she had any reason to. Aziraphale was a free angel. Aziraphale could do as she liked. Aziraphale could dance with every femme from here to Brighton if she wished to. Of course she could. Enough with the jealousy.

The music ended, and Aziraphale and her partner collapsed into one another in a fit of giggles. Their faces were very close. The woman kissed Aziraphale’s cheek and Aziraphale patted her hand companionably.

_Me_ , Crowley thought miserably. _Dance with_ me. 

She went to take another sip of her drink and realized there was none left. That was a bit quick. Oops.

At a loss for anything else to do, and feeling far less like flirting, she took herself over to the bar and ordered another drink. She made to slink off to her corner again.

“My dear girl!” 

Crowley froze when she heard Aziraphale’s plummy voice in the general vicinity of “behind her”. _Probably not me_ , she told herself, steeled her shoulders, and took off for the corner.

“Crowley!”

_Ah._ Crowley turned around quickly enough that Aziraphale, who had been hustling after her, nearly barreled right into her. 

“Oof!” Aziraphale said, catching herself with a hand on Crowley’s slim arm. “Sorry, dear.” Her thumb jumped against the thin skin above Crowley’s elbow, almost like a twitch, like she hadn’t meant to. (Crowley's arm burned.) She had removed her jacket after the last exuberant dance, and was standing so-so-close to Crowley in her sweater vest and shirtsleeves, her cheeks ruddy with exertion. She was still touching Crowley’s arm.

Crowley jerked away. “No worries, angel,” she said, tearing her eyes away from Aziraphale’s red cheeks, the stupid grin on her lips. “Thought I heard that voice of yours, just didn’t know you were talking to me.” Was that too close to honest? Too revealing? No. Keep it together. Stop talking.

“Oh, have you been here long?” Aziraphale asked. Her body was still so close, even after Crowley had pulled away. Crowley could feel the heat washing off her.

“Just a few songs,” she admitted.

“I hope you didn’t see me making a fool of myself jiving out there,” Aziraphale said. A glance back at her revealed she was still grinning broadly, and didn’t _look_ in the least embarrassed. “It’s such an American dance, isn’t it? Rather vulgar. But it’s such good fun. And it’s intoxicating to be able to take the man’s role. I do think that’s part of the reason I’ve avoided dancing all these years, you know?”

Crowley’s stomach dropped through her pelvis and skittered away. The idea of Aziraphale avoiding dancing with men for centuries, and jumping at the chance to dance with women, even in this vulgar, _American_ way, was. A lot to take in. Unsurprising, when she thought about it, but quite a lot to deal with.

“Nnh,” Crowley said.

“Do _you_ dance?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley was not prepared for this conversation. “A bit,” she admitted.

“I suppose you dance the woman’s part, don’t you?” Aziraphale said. She stepped a little closer, plucked at the sleeve of Crowley’s blouse, rubbed the thin cotton of the hem between her thumb and forefinger. “You look lovely, by the way.”

Crowley chanced a glance up at Aziraphale. She was looking back at Crowley steadily, the wild grin exchanged for a soft, serious kind of smile. 

She was _flirting,_ Crowley realized. Aziraphale was _flirting_ with her. Crowley’s cheeks went all warm.

“I do, yeah,” she managed.

“Excellent,” Aziraphale said. “Dance with me, then?”

It was not a surprise when she asked. Forty-five minutes ago, this offer would have been a great shock, but considering the turn the evening had taken, but now it just seemed inevitable. Crowley’s heart did not stop, her breath did not catch. She did take a moment to consider running off to the toilets to be sick, but thought better of it.

There was a young woman next to Crowley who looked in need of a drink. Crowley thrust her mostly-full glass at her and turned to Aziraphale.

“Why not?” she said breezily. She aimed for breezy, at least. Aziraphale looked pleased, and reached for Crowley’s hand as the music changed over.

Her fingers were warm and soft against Crowley’s as she led her out to the cramped, makeshift dance floor. The introduction of a new song began as Aziraphale laced a strong arm around the middle of Crowley’s back and Crowley draped her left arm over the angel’s. Aziraphale held out her free hand low around level with their hips. Crowley’s hand shook slightly as she placed it in Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale was already bouncing her knees in time with the music. Crowley hardly had any time to shiver with the nearness of her before Aziraphale was leading them in the first rocking step back.

“I’m afraid I’m not the most exciting dancer,” Aziraphale confided as she led them in a number of basic six-counts. 

Crowley, who had been focused on keeping time while simultaneously memorizing the feeling of Aziraphale’s soft arm under her elbow and across her back, startled slightly. “You’re fine, angel,” she promised.

“I’m surprised you aren’t showing me up already,” Aziraphale grinned down at her. “Of course you’ve always been a lovely dancer.”

She pushed slightly into Crowley’s space on the rock-step, initiating a turn on the next movement, then another one that pulled Crowley back. She laughed nervously as she settled again into Aziraphale’s arms, thanking Whoever that she hadn’t bungled the footwork like usual. 

“It’s usually less. Syncopated. I’m not so great with jive,” she confessed. God. Had Aziraphale expected her to be a wonderful dancer, like her last two partners? Of course she would be that kind of lead, focused on showing off her follow. And what would she do when the follow was incapable of showing off? Feel bored, probably. This had been a horrible idea.

Aziraphale led Crowley in a robust series of swing-outs that whipped her mind straight back into her body. By the time the angel had finally pulled Crowley close again, they’d both gotten their feet mixed up. Aziraphale laughed, which made Crowley laugh, and started bouncing her knees again until they’d both recovered and could start dancing again.

“Perhaps neither of us is particularly gifted here,” Aziraphale admitted. “But I have such a good time, dancing like this. Don’t you? I must say that you’re my favorite partner of the evening.”

“The other girls were better,” Crowley said. Her voice sounded just this side of petulant. Aziraphale turned Crowley again, then pulled her into a “cuddle” position.

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, bending down to speak close to Crowley’s ear. “I’d rather dance with you than any of them.”

Crowley blushed _hard_ at that. Fortunately, Aziraphale seemed to perceive that Crowley was at a loss for words, and concentrated on packing in all the dance moves she could remember, distracting them both from the conversation.

It was an unreasonably delightful few minutes, dancing with Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale was a highly communicative partner, using her body to anticipate the moves she lead. Crowley felt safe, leaning back against Aziraphale’s arm, or even just hanging on gently to her fingertips, listening for the next direction she’d be sent in. Their feet still managed to get tangled upa few times. Each time they did, they laughed and laughed, their faces deliriously close, before starting again. By the end of the song, they were properly playing with one another, first Aziraphale suggesting some outlandish styling and Crowley mirroring it, then Crowley initiating something foolish and Aziraphale responding in kind. 

When the song finished, far too soon, Aziraphale dipped her dramatically. Crowley laughed as Aziraphale hauled her back up, instinctively curled herself into Aziraphale’s chest. Aziraphale kept her arm around Crowley’s back.

It was almost terrifying, how much fun it had been, dancing and playing with Aziraphale, whirling around in her arms. She knew she should step back, away out of Aziraphale’s space, now that the dance was finished.

Before she could, she felt a slight pressure on the top of her head — a kiss! Aziraphale had kissed the top of her head!

Crowley gaped up at her. “Angel?”

Aziraphale looked, for the first time all evening, slightly bashful. “Not to be forward,” she said.

Crowley laughed at her then, delighted and frightened in equal parts. “Right. Very forward of you. Can’t even buy a girl a drink first.”

Aziraphale didn’t laugh, just kept looking at Crowley carefully. “I could buy a girl a drink first, you know. Maybe even ask her to dance again later.”

Crowley swallowed. “Maybe you could, angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> The club Crowley visits here is the Gateways, basically The lesbian club in London in the mid-twentieth century. It's got a fascinating history and I'd recommend a good Google spiral on that theme.
> 
> I'm fairly certain American military troops brought swing dance abroad during WWII. I'm not sure if this style of dance would have caught on even in lesbian clubs by '46, but why not? Mostly I really wanted them to swing dance, and lady!Aziraphale needed something to serve as her gavotte.
> 
> Aziraphale refers to "the man's part" and "the woman's part" in partnered dancing. Today, in the swing scene at least, they are called "lead" and "follow" and using gendered terms for the roles is appropriately frowned upon.
> 
> Title of course from Deck The Halls.
> 
> Prompt taken from the instagram AdventWord. Day 7: Unity.


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